


Put The Bass In Your Walk

by hazelandglasz



Series: Tumblr Glee Ficlets [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Drag Queens, Fluff, Gen, M/M, drag kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: Prompt: I’m interested in you but you are surrounded by hyper-protective and slightly scary Drag Queens with very high heels - Klaine please :)





	Put The Bass In Your Walk

Blaine loves going to “his” bar on Wednesdays.**  
**

First of all, it’s not as crowded, which means that he can go back and forth from the bar to get drinks and back to dancing without it being too much of a hassle.

Second of all, and it’s really as important as the first point he just made, Wednesdays are Wonder Womens Day, a.k.a. Drag Night.

Drag Queens and Kings fly into the bar and the evening goes from entertaining to fucking amazing in a bat of several sets of eyelashes.

The fact that a group of drag queens apparently decided to adopt Blaine as their protégé is a bonus--he has learned more about the art of applying make-up and about costume sewing than in all the years spent at NYU.

That, and they keep the creeps at bay.

(Looking at you, Hunter.)

At least, he thought he was their protégé because their present behavior is quite upsetting.

Keeping conversations from him? Whispering among themselves?

Sure, their heels and Blaine’s …. challenged verticality help for their whispers to remain secrets, but still.

Rude.

“Does someone want something from the bar?” he asks, because even though they’re being rude, they are still his friends and he is a gentleman.

Faye (Minine) and Corra (Rageous) exchange a look over everybody’s head before nodding.

The simple chin gesture sends the group in a frenzy of orders.

“A mojito for me!”

“A cosmo please.”

“Sex on the beach for me.”

“So, business as usual for you? It’s sad you have to leave us so soon!”

“Shush.”

“A pint for me.”

Blaine raises one eyebrow at Lin (Credible)’s order. 

“What? Beer is good for the body.”

The group laughs at that, and Faye puts her arm around Blaine’s neck in support.

“Right, like what we are aiming for are healthy choices.”

Lin slides her gloved hands down her serpentine bodysuit. “Obviously, ladies.”

Blaine chuckles as he frees himself from Faye. “Maybe I’ll follow you down the hops road, Miss Lin. Anything else?”

“You buyin’?”

“Of course.”

“Then grab us a plate of chicken wings, Blainey-baby.”

As he walks toward the bar, Blaine misses the sharp eye all “his” queens keep on him.

More importantly for the rest of this story, he entirely misses the sudden urgency in another patron’s steps to catch up with him.

Once he places his order to the bartender--Santana is not here as Papa Yaya tonight, which is surprising--Blaine leans against the bar to look at the crowd.

It is a typical Wednesday night at Huddles: a few people are dancing, but most people are sitting in the booth, talking, drinking and generally having a good time.

“Yo, Nightbird,” Santana calls as she sets the drinks on a tray, “do you want the beers in the traditional Huddles container or a normal glass is fine?”

“What’s the traditional container?”

“A--”

“A fishbowl,” someone answers instead of Santana, but she doesn’t pull a blade from her hair. Quite the contrary, actually, as she grins and winks at the newcomer. “I’ll have a Virgin Cuba Libre, San.”

“One Coke for the most precious doll, coming right up,” Santana replies, blowing the man a kiss. 

Blaine looks at the man who is resting his forearms on the bar in a beautiful display of his everything. The posture certainly highlights his long frame, his slenderness, and his muscles--very nice indeed.

“Sorry for interrupting, I just love this bar’s historical traditions,” the man says with a smile and a shrug. “But I’m relatively new here.”

Blaine takes another look at him. While his posture certainly puts him in a favorable light, there is something fiercely vulnerable--he is aware he’s making poetic oxymorons, leave him alone--in the way the man’s arms are tight against his torso, in the way his foot is tapping the floor like a woodpecker.

In the way his smile is slightly crooked.

“I’m Blaine,” he says, offering his hand.

The man looks at it like he can not quite believe what is happening before letting his smile widens as he shakes it. “Kurt.”

As they shake hands for far longer than necessary, they are both oblivious to two facts.

One, Santana rolls her eyes but leaves them with their drinks before taking the tray to the group of drag queens and staying with them for a while.

Two, said group watches them interacting like hawks.

Three, and that happens when Blaine takes Kurt’s hand to take him to the dancefloor, Cora and Bex (Plosion) high-five and start gathering money from the rest of the group.

For the moment, though, nothing else exists but the two of them, the floor beneath their feet, and Katie Perry’s voice surrounding them and guiding their bodies to the music.


End file.
